On Morals and Disorders
by DasKlaus
Summary: A teaching play utilizing the socratic method. John as Socrates.


"Are you fucking _crazy_?"

It was by far not the worst thing John had shrieked in one of their shouting matches, but somehow it actually shut Sherlock up, for once.

"I was not lying, you know.", he said, dropping his defensive stance. John threw one of the frozen mice in the paper bin.

"About what?", he asked irritably.

"About being a sociopath."

He stared for a moment, then made the connection between this sudden confession and his insult.

"Yeah, I know that."

"Do you?", Sherlock asked with honest curiosity. John sighed inwardly.

"Well, I don't know enough to assess ... oh, I'm not going to leave just because you're right.", he snapped, recognising Sherlock's worried John-might-move-out-look.

"You don't know that for sure."

"Well, someday I might discover that I'd like to have visitors someday, or that you're an even bigger arse on top of ..."

"I have been given the impression that if anything is the definition of arse, it would be socio-"

"... but I'm not going to leave when you dash what hope I harbour you're not. Also, there are better definitions, if you're looking for a medical term. Psychopathy, narcissism ..."

"Ah, so you do know the difference."

"Doctor, remember."

"So, you aren't secretly hoping I'm hiding my true loving self under layers of arse-ness? That I'm not what I say I am?"

"I may be, but I'm not counting on it."

There was a pronounced silence, in which John tried to recreate a semblance of his desk with the help of latex gloves and several bin liners. Sherlock's scowl deepened.

"Don't be like that, what kind of doctor would trust a self-diagnosis?"

"I've been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder as a child."

"I'm somehow not surprised."

"Go on then!"

"what?"

"Your differential diagnosis."

"Are we really doing this? Asperger's, for one."

"I am aware of social conventions, I _choose_ to ignore them."

"And you're adept at reading emotions, faces and social cues, though you only use them for information, not for behaving properly. But you also obsess over stuff and are weirdly particular in your habits. So it's on the table, albeit very high functioning. You might even be a sociopath on the

autistic spectrum."

"Unlikely."

"_You_ are unlikely."

Sherlock gave a thoughtful nod.

"There's narcissism, too. Sorry."

"Oh, don't be."

"It's neither fun to be nor be around. I would be sorry were it the case, for both of us."

"You think that likely?"

"I'm not sure. You do exhibit narcissistic behaviour, but that could just as easily stem from "being the odd one out" throughout your life, as well as upbringing, conditioning or other conditions. Asperger's and sociopathy both."

"But if the symptoms are the same, how does it make a difference?"

"Narcissism stems from severe self-worth issues. The need to prove oneself is not a result of a superiority complex, but of a need of attention and positive reinforcement. The question is, do you need others to acknowledge your genius because you fear you're inferior, or because you know yourself to be superior?"

"Trick question."

"Yeah, no narcissist would answer that one truthful. Though, to be fair, I've yet to see any pathological lying."

"And how would you know?"

"That's exactly why I can't diagnose you."

John set up his laptop on his desk, but Sherlock's pout let him add:

"There's another one."

"And what would that be?"

John paused for effect.

"Genius."

"That's not a diagnosis."

"Is too!"

"Not one you're qualified for making!"

"I'm not qualified for any of them. And it might not count as a personality disorder, but it could account for all your symptoms on its own."

"Oh? How so?"

Sherlock started to gain interest.

"Imagine you were born with a brain as powerful as yours ..."

"Done."

"... and no other issues, no disorders or defects."

"Go on."

"You'd develop extraordinarily fast on the intellectual side, while your emotions and motor skills struggle to keep up."

"I'll have you know I walked at six months."

"But you were talking in sentences at twelve, I bet. So, very soon it would have been hard for you to get proper stimulation for that brain, what with people using baby talk or keeping books from you ..."

"There was no baby talk at our house. Thank God for small favours."

"Still, the topics would have been drastically limited -"

"I'm good at eavesdropping. Or overhearing, as I prefer to call it."

Smug was not a good look on Sherlock, John decided.

"So you were not bored at all?"

"Later.", Sherlock admitted.

"Alright. So, you start school with an impressive collection of trivia, not yet deleted, already reading and counting -"

"Dividing!"

"Stop bragging, I'm telling a story!"

The pout returned.

"- reading and dividing, able to detect lies, able to distinguish false smiles from true ones -"

"Everyone can do that. They don't know they can, and they are constantly being told how happy everyone always is to see them, so they unlearn it again."

John talked right over Sherlock, to show he didn't listen.

"- keen observation skills, a good grasp on social norms and no idea why people interact at all, and do it so badly. And then they put you in a room with _children_ ..."

"I see where you're getting with this."

"In terms of intellectual compatibility, they must have been closer to ducks than to you. You were left to learn to form friendships, trust and behaviour from people who were so much below your league that you never bothered to learn at all. From observation, yes, for yourself, no."

"So, I'm an emotionally stunted loner?"

"God, no! Well, you are definitely missing impulse control, but really, when would you have learned to control your impulses when you can get away with _everything_ by being clever enough to not get caught, or to rationalize your behaviour, or make it look like someone else's fault? What I'm saying is that a normal environment must be toxic for someone so vastly different.

"Everyone needs to meet people just like themselves to relate to others. And

you need to relate to others to be empathetic."

John spread his arms in a classic "problem solved" manner.

"How is this whole It's-The-Brain's-Fault-Theory different from environmentally formed personality disorders?"

"It's not, not really. But usually those disorders develop in a normal person in an abnormal environment."

"I'm an abnormal person now?"

"You know you are."

"True enough."

"So, what do you think?"

Sherlock tapped his chin with his fingers.

"All in all, a whole lot of babble just to flatter me."

"You're missing the point."

"No, I don't think I do. You want to make me feel better about my abnormities by showing me how I had no real choice. But there's no choice involved in either scenario, be it genius or sociopathy or psychopathy or plain old Asperger's. You want to say there's nothing wrong with me except my enormous brain -"

"- brain mass doesn't correlate with intelligence -"

"- it was a figure of speech. Figured I'll try one of those once in a while to make you more comfortable, but I guess not. But the result is still a me with _symptoms_ - which I do not deny, nor resent, by the way - and not calling it a disorder doesn't make a damn difference. Whether I started out as a mentally healthy kid or not does not change the man I am. So what I'm asking is, does it change how you see me, as was the real question all along?"

"No."

John's answer must have come too fast for Sherlock's liking, as they were engaging in a staring contest in which Sherlock eyed John distrustful, who in turn gave his best "truthful and determined" impression.

"I do have one question left for you."

Sherlock stayed silent.

"Why _do_ you use your powers for good?"

"And why do you ask?"

"Oh, stop being so paranoid. It just ... baffles me, is all. I can't think of a reason, no, that's not right. I can think of many reasons, but none of them seem to apply to you. Doesn't mean stop, I rather like it that way.", he added as an afterthought.

"So is your question why am I a detective or why am I not a serial killer?"

"... more the last one, I think."

"Meaning you're reasonably sure I'm not. Interesting."

"Yes, yes, I'm a naive fool who trusts easily. Answer me, please?"

"What are those reasons that don't seem to apply to me?"

"If I tell you, will you answer?"

"Yes."

"Let's see ... following of role models, peer pressure, choosing the easy way -"

"In what way easy?"

"Oh, in that it's more normal, accepted, and if you get caught, nothing bad happens. Also less lies needed to do whatever you want. And don't get me wrong, I see that becoming a serial killer might simply not be what you want. It's not that I doubt that. It's not the not killing part, it's the

actively trying to minimize harm even when it's not in your best interest part I'm asking about."

"I see. Any more reasons?"

"Upbringing - but you'd question that -, you get more freedom for ultimately doing the "good" thing, it makes you more likeable, a better start to manipulate people or whatever you feel like doing. There's less fame in it, but it's of the positive kind - people admire you, people acknowledge your power, your skills, because they have need of them. I can't think of more right now."

"Really?"

"I guess."

"So why don't _you_ go on a killing spree?"

"Apart from not wanting to? I couldn't. Hurting others hurts me, bla bla, empathy. You know the stuff, you must've heard about it."

"Heard and observed. You realize all your reasons are based on needs?"

"Oh?"

"Need for attention, need for love, either from unspecific strangers or people one is close to, need for power, for freedom ..."

"You do have those needs, you know."

"So why do your reasons not apply for me, then?"

"You tell me."

"Because, as you no doubt gathered, I could satisfy all those needs in other ways, too, even without manipulation, depending on the circles in which I initiate social contact."

"Except probably the love part. The love from loved ones one."

"You think I have loved ones?"

"Doesn't matter, you have people you care about and for whose opinions of you you care."

"So you think that's it? I'm in it for mommy's approval?"

"I don't know. I don't think so, but don't ask me why. And don't think I haven't noticed you're still somehow dodging the question by reflecting it on me."

"It just ... makes sense to me."

"It _makes sense_?"

"As a whole, what's good for everyone must be good for me, too. Were I to abide by rules, those must be of a nature that, when applied to me, would maximize my happiness. So, were I to condone ruthless killing, I would condone my own murder. It just ... makes sense."

"How ... moral of you."

"That I don't exempt myself from the laws of society?"

"Yes. Well, more that you see yourself as part of society."

"What else would I be? I could live in the woods, I suppose, but I feel I'd be bored within hours. Even if I disconnect my identity from mankind, I'd still be part of the society I chose to live in."

"Have you been reading Kant?"

"Who?"

"Forget it. Philosopher. I believe he said something similar."

"It is the only logical ethical concept. I'm not surprised someone else managed to figure it out."

"You'd have to ask a philosopher about the "only logical one" thing. Not sure I agree, though I think I like this one."

"On a side-note, consider that being ethical is a choice for me, far more than for you or those empaths everywhere. Wouldn't it make me a better person for being able to cause harm without remorse but not doing so, than someone whose guilt and fear rules their choices?"

"Hmm. I'm not sure about that."

"Why not? You didn't make a conscious choice to care about people, did you?"

"I've been to war, you know. I probably did."

"Oh?"

"Let's put it this way: When your friends are getting blown to pieces under your hands, there's some temptation in not caring."

"Fascinating."

"You'd think so, yes."

"We're probably more alike than I initially thought. You see, I, too, chose to care."

John stared at Sherlock, trying to decide if he felt insulted by the suggestion of their similarity.

"Well."

"Well what?"

"Definitely not psychopathy, then."

"Glad that's settled."

John nodded, then closed his laptop abruptly.

"I need some tea.", he declared and marched into the kitchen.

"Mind the fungus next to it.", Sherlock called out.

"Might be hallucinogenic."


End file.
